Summer Storm
by angie1379
Summary: What happened between Knockout and Rise? Here's one theory. Spoilers for those two episodes, as well as the book Heat Rises.
1. Chapter 1

**Summer Storm**

What happened between "Knockout" and "Rise"? Here's one theory.

Disclaimer: Much to my dismay, last I checked, my name did not appear on any ownership rights to this show or its characters. I'm just grateful for the ability to borrow them now and again.

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

Kate stared blankly out the window, barely noticing the clear sky, the warm sunlight filtering through the glass, and the myriad little signs that late spring was giving way to the full bloom of summer.

She was going home today. After nearly four weeks confined to the same room, with little more than minutes spent in the hospital's sunny courtyard, she was finally going home. So why didn't she feel better about it?

Images and sensations from that day in May flashed across her mind – the weight of her corner of Montgomery's casket pulling on her shoulder, the bold colors of the flag that draped the rich mahogany, the deep emerald of the grass contrasting the stark whiteness of headstones, the formal stiffness of her dress uniform concealing the sweat that ran along her back and sides in the spring heat, and most of all, the unbearable pressure of the knowledge she carried about her mentor and friend.

And then it all changed. Moments after her quiet but deliberate acknowledgement that she wanted and needed Castle to stand by her, the searing pain ripped through her chest. For all her close calls, all the times she thought she'd been prepared to feel the burn of a bullet entering her body in the dark, foreboding warehouses and seedy alleyways of Manhattan, she never saw this one coming.

Almost immediately, there was nothing but Castle's face above her. He was crying and begging her to stay, his voice raw and his face anguished. But the weight in her chest was too much as the world began to fade. Her last memory as the edges faded to black was of four words she knew she had no right to hear from him, but there they were, on his lips and in his eyes. _I love you, Kate_. She held on to those words, praying she could return them, and knowing, as darkness overtook her, she'd likely never get that chance.

Her confusion upon waking up in the recovery room was short-lived, if only because so was her consciousness. Weeks later, those early memories would become little more than the vaguest of impressions – nurses, a heart monitor, her father, and pain. Each time she woke up she was a little more aware, a little more conscious, but as she was told later, it was twelve hours after her surgery that she finally managed to stay awake long enough to start putting pieces together. While she waited for the nurse to get her father from the cafeteria, the dam broke, and the memories surged forward – or backward actually – as the first thing she remembered was Castle's face and the words she couldn't be sure she'd actually heard.

Suddenly, she needed to see him. She needed to know if her memories were accurate, to see if there were signs of the love he'd professed reflected in his eyes. She glanced around the room, half expecting to see some evidence that he'd been there while she slept, but if he had been, there was no way to tell.

When her dad walked in the room, haggard, sleep-deprived, and glowing with relief, she pushed her thoughts aside and focused on the comforting presence of her parent. In a matter of minutes, as he assured himself time and again that she really was okay, Kate saw years melt from his face. Slowly, he began to answer her questions and tell her what happened and what the doctors had done to save her life, but it wasn't very long before fatigue began to set in, and Kate took the opportunity to tell her dad to go home and get some rest. It was then that she finally asked, "How's Castle?"

Her father's voice was soft and understanding when he answered, "He's holding up, though the word 'tormented' might seem like an understatement. I think he's taking on a lot of responsibility for this."

"He would," she agreed thoughtfully. "I thought he'd be here." She tried to make it a statement of fact, but even to her own ears, the words were laced with disappointment.

"He's at the station with Ryan and Esposito, trying to find out who did this to you. Do you want me to call him, to let him know you're awake?"

She debated for a moment about whether to call him herself, but decided against it. She wanted to see him, not talk to him over the phone. So she nodded. "Please."

She could tell by the look on her father's face that he wanted to say more, but he just told her, "Get some rest, honey. I'll be back shortly."

Her eyes were still open when Jim left the room, but they were getting heavy. Pain medication was powerful stuff, and the throbbing in her torso she could feel lingering just below the surface of the Vicodin made her grateful for its potency, even as she cursed the cobwebs in her mind caused by the medicine. Despite the dulling side effects, her thoughts drifted to the reality that awaited her when word got around that she was coherent. She was very aware of what happened when a cop got shot, and the thought of enduring questions and evaluations from Internal Affairs and the brass from 1PP, as well as well-intentioned but still endless inquiries from friends and doctors was suddenly paralyzing. She would be forced to relieve every second of that morning over and over for weeks until everyone was satisfied they knew every detail she remembered. Just the thought seemed to strengthen the throbbing that wracked her body.

On top of everything was the persistent weight of Montgomery's betrayal, which she had pushed aside until she could confront it after his funeral. She might have forgiven him in that hanger, but forgetting was another matter. She could still feel the soft skin of his face, warm and smooth in her hands, as she searched vainly for any sign of life. But he was gone, and he took all of his answers with him, leaving her with so many more questions.

Finally, there was Castle. He told her he loved her, and she knew he would eventually want to know if that feeling was returned – maybe not immediately, but eventually. She had nearly died in his arms, and there was no going back to the status quo, which itself had been tenuous at best lately. But now there was no denying the playing field had irrevocably changed, and Kate had no idea what to do with the ball she suddenly found herself in possession of. For a moment, she almost hated him for making her deal with one more unpredictable variable in her life, but she had also never been so scared and at the same time so eager to see another person in her life. What would she say when he walked in the room? What would he say?

It was all too much, and in that moment, Kate knew what she had to do. She needed to protect herself. She needed to sort through everything without distractions, to come to terms with all that happened, and what it all meant. She wasn't sure how, but she knew for certain she couldn't risk losing what little grasp she had on the remains her life. It was her job to put the pieces back together before opening up her heart and mind to others people's scrutiny, even Castle's.

The weight of her thoughts took their toll, and before she could stop herself, sleep overcame her. When next she awakened, it was to the sensation of someone holding her hand. Her first thought was, _Castle_, and the knowledge brought a smile to her lips as she squeezed the hand back. But the voice that whispered softly, "Welcome back," wasn't his.

Her eyelids fluttered open to find Josh smiling over at her. She smiled back, genuinely glad to see him, if a bit guilty at the depth of her disappointment that he wasn't Castle. The deep emotion she saw in his face sent a slight tremor through her battered body because she found she wasn't able to return the sentiment; it was, she now admitted, reserved for someone else, someone who was likely on his way to see her at that very moment – someone she was so eager to see, yet also wanted to hide from. But she pushed the thought aside, and focused on Josh.

"Kate, are you okay? Does it hurt?" The concern in his voice was deep as he noticed her wince in pain at the barrage of conflicting thoughts that assailed her.

She shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine. Just shifted wrong."

Her first words to her boyfriend were a lie. But how could she tell him that her initial thought upon seeing him after nearly dying was that, while she had survived, their relationship would not? It was all too cruel.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow in answer.

"Right, okay, dumb question," he said with a smile. When she reciprocated, he confessed, "Man, am I glad to see that beautiful smile. You had me scared for a while there, Kate. I'm so glad you're okay – relatively speaking."

"Me too," she whispered.

"Do you remember what happened?"

She took a moment to decide how to respond. "I was shot – at Montgomery's funeral." It was the barest acknowledgement of the truth, but the details were not something she wanted to focus on right now. Presented with her first opportunity to speak about what happened, she became even more convinced that she did not want to begin rehashing every second of that day already. She wanted some time to think first before she had to retell it to a dozen different people. So she responded with her own question. "Do you know if they caught the guy?"

Josh shook his head. "Not that I've heard. Then again, I don't think anyone would be too eager to tell me." At her confused look, he continued. "I might have taken out some of my frustration on your buddy Castle."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why?"

He took a breath and did his best to explain, looking guilty for even bringing it up. "Kate, I saw you on that gurney, and it was my worst nightmare come true. I had to start operating, _on my girlfriend_, and I had to keep everything bottled up, all my fear, my questions. By the time I found out what happened and walked out there, all I could think about was that the person who is supposed to have your back on the job isn't even a cop."

"Josh, he couldn't have …"

"I know, Kate, and I probably owe him an apology, but it kills me knowing that you're out there, facing that kind of danger, _with a writer_."

She didn't know what to say to that, so they sat in silence for a minute. Then Josh continued, "I'm sorry Kate, but if it's any consolation, I heard he tried to save you, even tackled you to the ground. But he was too late."

The memory was so clear in her mind, she thought for sure it must be projecting on her forehead, but Josh didn't seem to notice. They chatted for a few more minutes about significantly lighter topics, until the door to the recovery room opened, and Castle walked in.

Her breath caught at the sight of him, and her heart swelled with emotion. Josh excused himself, leaving her to face Castle alone, with no idea what to say to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It took Castle a week before he broke down and texted Kate. It took him eighteen days to call her. It took him two months to accept that she wasn't going to call back.

Day after day, he thought about her. Endlessly. How was she feeling? Was she recovering? Why did she push him away? Did she remember? From the moment he'd left her in that hospital room, he'd known something was wrong, something deep and profound, something he wanted to help make right – if she'd only let him. Kate was a very intense person, no doubt, but beneath that exterior, he'd come to know a woman who was also charming, funny, flirtatious, and even occasionally, silly and playful. But that lighter side, that spark of life and excitement, had been utterly extinguished in that hospital.

She was guarded and weary in a way that had nothing to do with her physical injuries. He knew the worst of the damage had been to her spirit, her confidence, and her perseverance. She was focused on regrets and what-ifs that had nothing to do with what happened to her in that cemetery. Before she'd even had time to process the enormity of Montgomery's betrayal and his almost immediate death, which left her with as many questions as answers, she'd found herself a one in a million survivor of a sniper's infinitesimal miscalculation.

How could she expect him to leave her to deal with that alone? But she did, and he had no choice but to respect her wishes.

To make matters worse, all he knew was what he'd seen in a five-minute visit that had ended far more undesirably than he'd ever expected. He'd gone in there so happy just to see her alive. He wanted to rejoice and celebrate. She'd taken a bullet to the chest from a high-powered rifle, and by the grace of some higher power, she had survived. And in those minutes and hours after she was shot, Castle came to fully embrace one immutable fact – he loved her. He knew the feeling had been there for a long time, but he'd stubbornly ignored it in a desperate attempt to be happy with the friendship they had. He didn't want to be greedy, even as the attraction between them grew and his feelings became like a beach ball he was struggling to keep under water.

There were a million reasons it wouldn't work between them – and not one of those reasons meant a damn when she lay dying on the ground in front of him. He loved her, and he wanted her to know that he meant those words. His only regret was that it had taken almost losing her for those words and feelings to come out.

Yes, there was Josh, and for most of the past year, Castle had allowed the other man's presence to dictate his actions. He'd backed off and respected what he assumed was Kate's choice. But Rick wasn't blind, and he saw what was developing between Kate and himself; he saw her feelings deepen even as his did, and he knew she was hiding from it. From the moment she'd left him on that sofa in L.A., he'd known she was fighting her feelings and struggling with her choice to stay with Josh. His certainty that she had feelings for him was the impetus behind his harsh accusations during their argument. However, that certainty still did not give him the right to confront her so sharply, and his guilt over his words still gnawed at him.

The first day after he left the hospital was an eternity – and they only got longer from there. He checked his phone constantly and pounced like a hungry jaguar every time it rang, beeped, or buzzed. But it was never her.

He dodged reporters and offered endless "no comments" to the ones who camped outside his building until he had Paula issue a statement expressing his deepest regret for the loss of Capt. Montgomery, his commitment to the NYPD, and his prayers for a swift recovery for the finest detective he knew. He didn't have to wonder how they knew the cop on the front pages of the Ledger, the Times, and the Post who had been shot at her captain's funeral was the same detective Richard Castle was using as the inspiration for Nikki Heat. He hadn't exactly kept Kate and the 12th anonymous over the last few years, going as far as to thank them publically in his acknowledgements. So he wasn't surprised that enough dedicated followers and reporters had put the name in the paper together with the name in his books. Knowing how fast such information spread, he wasn't even the least bit tempted to read the comments on his fan page, despite Alexis' assurance that there was a generous outpouring of support and encouragement for Kate. None of it mattered.

"Darling, you're moping again," Martha said as she stepped into the study to find him staring at a blank screen.

"Not now, Mother," he said with a sharper edge to his voice than was he accustomed to using with her.

"Richard really, why don't you march right up to that hospital and ask her why the hell she's doing this to both of you? Because you can't tell me she's not just as miserable." Martha stared him down, praying her bold advice would snap her son to action.

"I can't. She said she needed time and that she'd call. And when she's ready, she will."

"And what if she doesn't?" Martha pressed. "What if her pride is as stubborn as yours?"

Rick closed the lid to the laptop in defeat and looked up to meet Martha's eyes. "It's not about pride."

"The hell it's not." Her voiced raised precipitously. "You can kid yourself all you want, Richard Castle, but if you love that girl, you can't let her push you away like this. Mark my words, she's hurting too, and she's gotten very used to facing everything alone. Prove her wrong."

But Rick just shook his head. "She has Josh, and she has her father, not to mention everyone at the 12th." He took a breath and continued, hoping Martha would come to understand his position. "The night before Montgomery was killed, I pushed her too far. Remember? We fought, and we said things that were both true and unnecessarily callous. And I nearly lost her. I'm not making that mistake again. When Kate gets scared, she gets angry and she runs. The most I can do is be here when she's ready to come back."

Martha nodded reluctantly, hoping her son knew what he was doing. "I know it's a cliché, but I just want you to be happy, kiddo, and I've never seen anyone but Alexis bring out the best in you like she does. I don't want to see you lose that."

Rick walked over and pulled his mother against him, drawing strength from her indomitable wisdom. "Believe me, Mother, neither do I."

In the days that followed, when he wasn't at the precinct pouring over interviews with witnesses and analyzing photos that had been collected from reporters and a few curious spectators who wanted to see a formal NYPD funeral, he continued to prowl the loft, restless, anxious, and increasingly desperate for any sign of contact from her. But it never came.

The hours and days passed, and the silence between them only grew.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Kate let go of the memories of her first hours of consciousness after the shooting and brought herself back to the present, adding a few more shirts to the duffle bag on the bed. But the memories wouldn't stay at bay. She had seen his love so clearly in his eyes that day, and she had wondered faintly if it had always been there or if it was the result of his own acceptance of his feelings. How could she accept love like that, in her condition? More importantly, how could she return it? Did her heart even go that deep?

And so, for the second time to as many people, she lied. But lying to Castle took everything out of her, and she knew she could not sustain such a charade without time to fortify herself. She was too vulnerable, and her physical and emotional recovery would be too long for her to continue to look him in the eye, day after day, and watch him by her side, where'd he'd been for nearly three years, and pretend she didn't remember his words to her.

So she'd sent him away, with the vague promise of calling. Days had turned to weeks, and now, as she prepared to leave the security of her hospital room, she knew she was no closer to being able to face him than she'd been in May. He had always been able to read her like one of his damn books, and she knew it would take him about thirty seconds to see through her lies. It was a risk she couldn't take.

"Kate, you need to snap out of it." The voice from the doorway brought her once again back to the present, and she looked up to see Josh striding into the room. That was another reason she hadn't called Castle. The inevitable stress and heartbreak of telling Josh it was over had proven as impossible to confront as everything else, and so she had hidden behind her recovery and allowed the status quo to continue. She knew it couldn't last – and she didn't want it to. Looking at him now brought only a sense of inevitably, rather than the joy a woman should feel toward her boyfriend.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm fine."

"Physically, you're doing great, better than great, but I haven't seen a smile on your face in weeks."

Kate looked over at him but couldn't even muster a smile to prove him wrong. That fact alone was enough to tell her something had to give. She couldn't go on pretending that she would someday be able to give Josh what he deserved. The feelings just weren't there, despite her best attempts to prove otherwise over the past four months. Perhaps they both would have been better off if he had gone to Haiti back in February. The last few weeks had made her realize they had only delayed the inevitable. She was never going to be able to go all in with him; she wondered wistfully if she'd ever be able to go all in with anyone.

When she didn't respond, Josh tried to wrap his arms around her in a comforting embrace, and when she stiffened in response, he just assumed it was due to her injury. "Come on babe, let's get you home."

There it was, the opening she couldn't ignore. She had to tell him.

"I'm not going home, Josh. I've decided to take my dad up on his offer to use the cabin."

He took a step back and looked at her suspiciously. "Oh, when did you decide that?"

Her father had offered the cabin to her a week earlier, but she'd insisted she just wanted to go back to her apartment to recover. It was only that morning that she decided her need to distance herself from Castle now extended to Josh and the rest of New York City as well. She was ready to leave the hospital, but she was far from ready to face the world. She needed a buffer, of sorts, and the cabin was the perfect compromise.

"This morning. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I just need to get away for a little bit, and I think the fresh air will do me good."

Josh nodded, but he knew her well enough to know when she was withholding something – and everything from her posture to her lack of eye contact told him that she wasn't being completely honest. "For how long?"

She shrugged. "A few weeks maybe."

"Kate, you know with my schedule, I won't be able to get up there very often, and I thought we agreed you would stay in the city so that I could help you out."

"My dad's going with me for a little while, till I'm a little more self-sufficient."

"Am I missing something here? I know you've been though a hell of a lot recently, but is withdrawing from everybody really a good idea?

"I'm not withdrawing. I just need to get away."

"From me?"

She wanted to deny it. It would have been so easy to look at him, smile, and say _Of course not_. But the words wouldn't come. "From everyone, Josh."

"Does 'everyone' include Castle, too?"

Her eyes narrowed as she weighed how to respond. This wasn't the first time Castle's name had been invoked in one of their discussions, but Kate had no intention of going down that path again.

"You know I haven't seen him in weeks."

"Yeah, I know, but I can't help but wonder why, Kate? He's supposed to be your 'partner,' right? So why would your partner not visit you in the hospital? Kevin and Javier have both been up, and so has Lanie, but no sign of Castle. Care to finally explain?"

No, she didn't, but she didn't know what to say either. "It's complicated, Josh, but it doesn't matter because he has nothing to do with this."

Josh shook his head, knowing better. "That's where you're wrong. I think he has a lot more to do with this than you're letting on. He always has. Just quit lying to me, okay. Something happened, something changed that has nothing to do with Montgomery or your mother. For nine months, I've been hearing stories about Castle and what a good friend he is, and how smart he is, and how he always sees things differently, but now all of a sudden, he's MIA, and you're running off to your dad's cabin. It doesn't make sense, Kate, unless something happened that I don't know about."

Wow, she thought, if med school hadn't worked out for him, he would have made a great detective. "I don't want to talk about this. What happened with Castle doesn't matter." She knew that wasn't true, but what happened in that cemetery was her secret, and if she really wanted to, she could decide to bury it and move on with Josh as though nothing had happened. But she knew that her feelings for the man standing in front of her weren't what they needed to be. Castle was right. She was hiding, and it wasn't fair to anyone. "I just need to get out of here."

"What does this mean for us, Kate? Do I wait for you? Or are we over?"

She knew she could continue to deflect and run, giving half answers and feigning indecision, but that would just delay the inevitable even more.

"I'm sorry, Josh. I'm never going to be able to give you what you deserve. And it has nothing to do with getting shot, and it has nothing to do with my mother's case. I thought, after Haiti didn't happen, that we could make it work, but nothing has changed. You didn't even come to Montgomery's funeral with me, and the truth is, I don't think I would have wanted you there anyway."

He looked away, not able to meet her eyes. He'd asked if she wanted him to go to the funeral, but the offer had been half-hearted, and they both knew it. He was on call. The fact that he'd asked rather than just said he'd be there was indication enough that his priority was to the hospital. "Way to turn the tables," he countered bitterly. "Tell me this, though – you said it has nothing to do with getting shot or with your mom, but what about Castle? How does he fit in, because I know he does."

Her shoulders sagged as the weight of her uncertainty became too much. "Honestly, I wish I knew."

"Is there something going on between you?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing like that."

"But you have feelings for him."

She took a deep breath, and offered what she hoped was enough of the truth to appease him. "Yeah, I do. But it's not that simple, Josh. Right now, nothing in my life is simple, and I need time to figure out who I am and what I need to do to get past this. If you and I were more committed, then maybe we might have been able to get through this together. I really do like you, and I've enjoyed this relationship. But it's not enough, and at this point, I think we need to accept that it never will be."

Josh nodded, knowing that in some ways he was as guilty of withholding as she was. "I'm sorry, Kate, for not being the guy you need. I hope you find him one day … or at least realize you maybe already have."

He kissed her softly on the cheek, whispered, "Good luck, and take care of yourself," and walked softly out of the room.

When he was gone, she collapsed on the bed, and let flow the tears she'd been holding back. She cried for another lost relationship, the umpteenth in her life. She cried for Castle, and the feelings for him that she could no more deny than embrace, leaving her in a tormented limbo of emotion and indecision. She cried for her captain, shot down as much by the sins that haunted him as by men he died protecting her from. And she cried for her mother, for whom justice was still as elusive as it had always been.

Her first thought upon regaining some semblance of composure was that she wanted to call Castle. She missed him, desperately, and she knew this self-imposed exile had to be every bit as tortuous for him, which was unfair to the maximum degree since she'd given him no say in the matter. But the thought of looking into his eyes and telling him she didn't remember his words brought a painful clench to her stomach. Unfortunately, the alternative was not a possibility either. How could she tell him she remembered his words without being able to tell him she returned them? She still needed time to figure out what she felt – and what she wanted.

Furthermore, for three weeks, she had stubbornly maintained to everyone who asked that her last memories were of standing at the podium talking about Montgomery's final advice to her, and like most lies, the longer they went on, the harder they were to correct. She had already met with her new psychologist, Dr. Burke, who had built a strong reputation in the years since 9/11 helping cops, firefighters, EMTs, and other first-responders cope with the trauma inflicted by their jobs. His calm demeanor invited trust, and she soon came to feel at ease with him. But for all the topics they covered – her mother, Hal Lockwood, Montgomery's death, Royce's recent death, and even her unorthodox partnership with Castle – she held tight to her secrets, praying she could keep them hidden. To admit she remembered Castle's words would be to invite a conversation she was not ready to have. Yes, she had questions she ached for answers to: How long had he loved her? Why hadn't he told her before? What does he want from her? But there were questions her therapist, and especially Castle, would ask in return that she was not prepared to answer, specifically whether she loved him back.

The truth was, she thought she did, but the damage to her heart was too severe to risk it further. Losing Royce and Montgomery, learning of Montgomery's involvement, getting shot at a funeral, and knowing the man she'd come to think of as The Dragon – the moniker McAllister had used – was still out there and by all accounts as untouchable as ever, was just too much. Some would tell her that embracing Castle's love would bring her strength. But that would require giving herself in return, and she wasn't able to do that. She needed to be able to go to him whole, without the baggage that not only accompanied her, but defined her. And unless she could learn to lie to him as effectively as she'd been lying to everyone else, she needed to keep her distance. She just hoped he would understand.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He sat at her desk in the bullpen almost three weeks after the shooting, thinking about how wrong it felt to be there without her. Montgomery's office stood closed and dark; the interim captain had opted to use a different office out of respect. But Rick knew it wouldn't be long until another person took over that space permanently. There was already talk about a short list of candidates, though Castle wasn't familiar with any of the names being batted around the bullpen – Krispinsi from the two-four, Jacobs from the Brooklyn one-ten, Gates from IA, and DeMarco from Organized Crime. Despite the talk, though, no one seemed able to muster any particular interest in who the new captain would be. All that mattered was that it would never again be Montgomery sitting in that office. Beyond that, no one really seemed to care who it would be.

The topic of much more importance was the identity of Kate's shooter, which Castle spent innumerable hours helping Ryan and Esposito track down. Tension continued to mount as every possible lead barely took them two steps before ending in a brick wall. They were tired, frustrated, and utterly at wits' end. The only flicker of optimism came from what sketchy news they had indicating Beckett was getting better. For Castle, this news was always bittersweet.

The other two men had asked him a few times how she was doing, and he found himself lying by omission, saying only that she looked good the last time he'd seen her. He just didn't want to get into what had happened between them, and for the first time in his tenure at the precinct, he was grateful for cops' natural tendency to mind their own business. While it usually frustrated him to no end when he got one-word answers to his questions for his books, he was now perfectly willing to exploit their reticence for his own sake.

However, it was much harder to appear only mildly interested when one of them indicated they'd seen her recently. As much as he wanted to pump them for every detail on how she looked and what she'd said, he forced himself to be content with their general comments that she was recovering quickly and was obviously well enough to joke about the office imploding without her guidance.

"When do you think she'll be back? End of summer?" Esposito asked when he found Rick staring at one of Beckett's little elephants while turning it over and over in his hands.

"Don't know. I imagine there are a lot of variables to consider."

"It's just not the same place, ya know, with her and Montgomery not here."

Castle nodded, his gaze still fixed on the elephant. Then his curiosity got the better of him: "How's she doing, Javier? How does she seem to you?"

The detective eyed Castle closely, but fell back on habit and answered the question without prying. "She seems … broken … you know? She doesn't meet your eyes when she's talking, she dodges questions about the day of the shooting and the night at the hanger. Heck, she even changes the subject when we mention you, bro."

Castle nodded again in what Esposito took to be agreement. What he didn't know was that he was only confirming Castle's speculation of the way Kate would likely deal with things. Rick wasn't surprise at all to hear she was internalizing everything, and it made him want to storm that hospital room all the more and make her release everything he knew she was holding in.

Instead, that evening, nearly three weeks after the shooting, he called her. He was upset, but not especially surprised, when she didn't answer, and he hung up without leaving a message. He'd texted her two weeks earlier, simply asking, "How RU?" When that went unanswered, he accepted the hint that she wasn't ready to talk yet and he recommitted to giving her the time she'd asked for.

A minute after hanging up the phone, he caved in again and called back to leave a message. "Hey Kate, it's me. I know you said you needed time, but this isn't getting any easier. How are you doing? Call me, please. Tell me what's going on. I miss you."

He hung up before he could erase it and try again. If he sounded desperate, he didn't care. Pride didn't have any place in such matters. What mattered was her getting better, both physically and emotionally, and if he had to let her know that it was killing him to be shut out of her life, then he'd do it gladly. They were well past the point where he could pretend to have no more than a casual interest in her recovery. He loved her, and even if she didn't remember that he'd said it, she couldn't pretend that he was just someone she occasionally spent time with at work. She knew their relationship mattered. She knew he wouldn't be okay with staying away. And yet she maintained her silence.

He wasn't a hundred percent certain why his presence was so singularly unwanted, but he surmised it was because he was the most significant a reminder of everything that happened with Montgomery and Lockwood. She'd told him the day before the funeral that they would talk soon. "Just let me get through tomorrow, Castle," she'd said.

He'd stayed with her, against rather vehement protests, when they got back from the hanger at three in the morning after reports and statements were made about what had happened. Kate was frozen inside and only numbly nodded in agreement with the story Castle told about arriving at the scene and hearing gunshots. He said they'd run into the hanger and found the bodies on the ground. Castle knew enough about police procedure to know it would be impossible to explain why Kate had not backed-up Montgomery if they admitted she was there when Lockwood arrived. It was better just to appear as ignorant as possible about Montgomery's actions that night until they had more information themselves.

Then they'd watched as Lanie unavoidably conducted her preliminary investigation on the victims, and the team from her office loaded five black body bags, one carrying Capt. Roy Montgomery, into three awaiting vans. Castle had noted that Montgomery's body was in a van by itself, and he was glad their captain was not placed in the same vehicle as the men who killed him. Whether that was deliberate or by coincidence, he didn't care. Lanie had tears in her eyes as she told Kate that Roy had been shot three times, and the CSU team was working to reconstruct what had happened. As usual, she'd know more when she got back to the lab.

Silently, Kate nodded and walked toward her car. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To tell Evelyn Montgomery she's a widow."

Castle was jarred out of his memory when his phone rang. His immediate thought was _Kate, _and the instinct was so strong that a feeling of love and gratitude filled his chest before he even glanced at the screen. The sight of the Black Pawn logo flashing on the display was so unexpected that at first he barely recognized it, but then the sharp punch of disappointment plowed into his chest, leaving him unable to even answer the call. Instead, he waited for the signal that a message had been left on his voicemail. For lack of anything better to do, he retrieved the message.

"Hello Mr. Castle, this is Amanda from Black Pawn. Gina asked me to call and remind you of your Friday deadline. If you have any questions, please feel free to call me at …" her voice droned on with the various numbers and times at which she'd be available, and Castle marveled again at Gina's ability to remind him to stay on schedule without even having to talk to him. In six months, he hadn't spoken to her directly more than twice.

But at that moment, he wouldn't have cared if the President of the United States had just left him a message. It wasn't Kate.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The thick, muggy air felt like syrup entering her lungs as her feet swiftly and deftly navigated the uneven terrain of the trail around the lake. But Kate didn't care. She'd gladly endure far worse to enjoy the simple pleasure of an early-morning run again. For weeks, the closest she'd come was a treadmill at her PT appointments – a pitiful substitute by any measure. She craved the freedom and variety of an open road or well-worn path, not the stuffy confines of a doctor's office. And finally, after proving that her still-recovering body could withstand the rigors of a ten-minute mile, she'd secured her physical therapist's permission to venture out for short runs at the cabin.

Other signs of her recovery were evident as well, from the definition in her upper arms to the golden hue of her skin. If not for the scarlet incision and puckered disc on her torso, she'd almost feel hard pressed to identify why she was still on sick leave. The stitch she developed in her side a hundred yards later suddenly reminded her.

Slowing to a walk, she tried to remember to be grateful for the accomplishments she'd made, and not resentful of limitations she still faced. That was the advice of her other, decidedly non-physical therapist, Dr. Burke. She reminded herself that she couldn't dwell on the unfairness of her situation, the frustrations of her recovery, or how the slow pace set by her body conflicted with the pace longed for by her mind.

It was an impossible task. She needed to feel whole again, and the milestones weren't coming quickly enough to satisfy her. She could run almost two miles and lift seventy percent of the weight she'd been lifting before getting shot, but she still wasn't quite there. She inevitably tired more easily, and she was still some fifteen pounds lighter than she'd been before. The gaunt face that looked back at her every morning in the mirror never failed to remind her of everything she'd been through.

Nursing the pain in her side, she took a seat on an old log and stared out at fishing boats dotting the surface of the lake. For as much as she liked being outdoors, fishing had never held much appeal. Swimming seemed like a much better use of the water, even though she hadn't even taken the time to enjoy that pastime since settling in at the cabin a month before. Bathing suits tended to be a bit more revealing than what she wanted her apparel to be these days.

And she knew her purpose for spending the summer at Harriman State Park was far from recreational. She was hiding. She's admitted as much to Dr. Burke the day before at her bi-weekly session, and despite his insufferable patience as he coaxed the admission out of her, the truth had proven to be far less painful than she's feared. Granted, it hadn't exactly set her free either, but for now, it was enough to know that yes, her time at the cabin was an escape. It also didn't hurt that the psychologist quietly agreed that her circumstances might warrant such an escape – at least for a little while.

She'd had ten sessions with the doctor so far, and she was grateful that she was able to schedule them to coincide with her PT so that she only had to make the 60-minute drive into the city twice each week. The drive made her grateful that her full-time home was in Manhattan and not the suburbs of New Jersey or Connecticut, taking subways and trains to work every day. But she had to admit, the concrete jungle that regularly surrounded her offered little in the way of the tranquil solitude of nature. Still, the city was her turf, and each time she left it to return to her current sanctuary, she felt the urge to return home grow a little stronger. In the first few weeks, she'd fled the city as soon as possible after her appointments, but as time passed, she'd found herself making up excuses to stay a little longer. She went shopping, browsed the library, and even spent some time in the Met just because she saw an ad for an exhibit that looked interesting. The problem with being a native of New York is that she routinely took for granted everything that was available to her; however, her time in the cabin reminded her to enjoy those simple things. She'd even gone as far as to grab an early dinner with Lanie after her last appointment, stretching out her time in Manhattan until the evening. While it was nice to chat with her friend, she felt ready to hibernate again by the end of the meal. She still wasn't ready to answer the questions those who knew her best were wont to ask. "How are you really feeling?" "Are you coming back? When?" "Have you heard anything about the new captain?" "How's Castle?"

That last one was especially difficult to field. In the handful of conversations she's had with Ryan, Esposito, and Lanie, she'd managed to change the subject whenever Castle's name was brought up, not even going as far as to ask, "Why don't you just ask him how he's doing?" She was surprised they didn't seem to be aware that she and Castle hadn't spoken in weeks. Had he not told them? But she wouldn't elaborate or ask questions because she just didn't want to go there. She knew any inquiry would lead to another one, and each minute spent on that topic would exponentially erode her resolve to not ask about him and confess how much she missed him. So she kept the conversations short, to the point, and as infrequent as possible. In fact, thinking back, it had been every bit of a week since she's spoken to Esposito when he'd called to ask her if she wanted the paperweight she'd gotten Capt. Montgomery for his twenty-fifth anniversary on the force. Evelyn had come in to clear out her husband's office, and she wanted to make sure "his family" had things to remember him by. Kate told Esposito to just leave the memento on her desk. After that call, which probably lasted no more than three minutes, she hadn't talked to anyone but Lanie since, and after the anxiety she felt after their dinner, she feared her exile was going to get worse before it got better. Maybe that was something she should bring up with Dr. Burke at her next session.

Kate stood up from the log and took a few tentative steps to test the pain in her side. Finding it gone, she continued walking the half mile back to the cabin. Her cell phone was vibrating when she walked in the door, and for the hundredth time, her first thought was of Castle. But he hadn't called in weeks, and she really couldn't blame him. She'd told him she would call, and she'd ignored the two attempts he'd made to contact her. It had killed her to see his name flash on her screen, only to turn away in shame and regret. Now, she wasn't so sure she could maintain her silence if he called again, though after six weeks, she doubted he would make any further attempt. Her message had been loud and clear, a fact she now conceded brought more regret than relief.

Shoving those regrets aside, she snatched up the phone and smiled when she saw it was her father. "Hi Dad."

"Katie, you okay? You sound out of breath."

Her smile faltered as she wondered if she'd ever hear his voice again without the tell-tale strains of worry that punctuated every conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, really good actually. I just got back from a short run."

"Oh, well, I'm glad you're feeling better. How are you doing up there? Miss the city yet?"

"Yeah, a little," she admitted, "but it's nice to get away."

They chatted about her progress and her activities at the cabin for a while, and then her father hit her with a curveball that she was fairly certain he wasn't even aware he'd thrown. Or was he?

"I saw an ad in the Times for your friend Rick's new book. Looks like it will be out by the end of summer."

Her fingers froze in their task of untying her running shoes. "Oh," was all she could manage.

"Yeah, September first it comes out. _Heat Rises_."

She struggled to find her voice. "That's what he said it was called."

Her father didn't let up. "Oh, so you've talked to him recently?"

Jim Beckett was nobody's fool, Kate thought, and she was no more equipped to pull one over on him now than she was at five, or twelve, or twenty-one. "No, Dad, I haven't, not since the shooting."

Her father sighed into the phone, and she could hear in his voice that he was struggling with whether to say any more. Finally, he reached his decision. "Katie, I don't pretend to know what you're going through, but are you sure this is the best way to deal with things? This isn't some casual friendship that you can ignore. That man cares about you, a lot."

"I know he does."

"Then why won't you talk to him?"

It was a fair question, and she couldn't fault him for asking. But her reasons sounded far less convincing than they did in the hospital a month earlier. "I just … I just can't. I don't know what to say to him anymore."

"Kate, listen to me. We both know being able to run five miles and bench press a hundred and fifty pounds is only half of what you need to do to get back on the Force. You need time to come to terms with what happened and figure out how to move on, and there's no one better than Dr. Burke to help you with that. But don't keep pushing away the other people in your life who want to help you the most."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, grateful he couldn't see them. "I won't, Dad. I just need more time."

They said good-bye a few minutes later, and Jim promised to visit over the weekend. After she hung up, Kate looked around the cabin and weighed the costs and benefits of her decisions. _A little more time,_ she thought to herself. _All I need is a little more time._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Castle's fingers flew over the keyboard so quickly that he wouldn't have been surprised to see smoke begin to billow from the keys. The setting, the dialogue, and the action poured from his mind to the screen so clearly that each time he paused to regroup and revise, he wondered if he wasn't simply describing the scenes in a well-known movie. The imagery was blindingly vivid, and the conversation between the characters was resoundingly clear. Then he thought wryly to himself, of course it rings familiar, it's her voice. The tone, the gestures, and the sarcasm were all her, and bringing Nikki to life on the page helped him forget, at least for a little while, that he hadn't seen or talked to Kate in seven weeks.

And so he filled his days without Kate by spending time with Nikki. He'd left Gina a message telling her she could take his damn advance back if she wanted, but his manuscript of _Heat Rises_ was going to get some significant revisions that would be done by July 15, two weeks past his official deadline. He told her to have the presses ready to run because the copy would be clean, and they would still meet the September 1 release date. It was a tight timeline – some would say impossible by publishing standards – but if Connelly could put out three books a year at Random House, Castle would see to it Black Pawn could make this happen.

He wasn't rewriting the whole book, or even most of it. Rook and Nikki were still going rogue because Nikki got suspended; a videotaped murder was still the big reveal at the heart of the plot; and foreign mobsters were still key suspects. The difference was, the foreign mobsters were no longer the actual bad guys; that role would go to someone in the NYPD, someone Nikki trusted and admired.

Yes, he felt like he was playing with fire. Would Kate see the comparisons to Montgomery as a tribute or as exploitation? Would she understand his attempt to redeem their fallen captain, or would she find Montrose's absolution empty and contrived?

Never in his professional career had Rick ever written a book with someone else's opinion of it in mind. His firm belief in both the First Amendment and literary license precluded such risks of self-censorship. He'd written steamy love scenes knowing there was a chance his daughter might one day read them. He'd violently murdered people knowing his mother would cringe at such graphic descriptions. And he'd killed Derrick Storm knowing millions of readers would want him boiled in oil for committing such an unforgivable act. Of course he was vain enough to wonder who found the little Easter eggs he always hid in his books – references to settings in previous books, recurring minor characters, or shout outs that blurred the literary equivalent of the fourth wall. But even with _Heat Wave _and _Naked Heat_, he hadn't worried over how the book would be received by Kate or anyone else. While he'd certainly hoped they would like the stories, he wouldn't have altered any aspect in order to ensure their approval.

But _Heat Rises_ was no ordinary book and was not being written under ordinary circumstances. So for the first time, he found himself weighing carefully how every word would be understood by one reader. Would he have made the same revisions and choices had Kate not exorcised him from her life, he couldn't say. As it was, her face, her reaction, and her understanding permeated every word that made it from his mind to the screen. There were jokes he hoped she would laugh at, feelings he hoped she'd understand, and reassurance he hoped she'd welcome.

But as the pages accumulated, he became startlingly aware of the increasing ease with which he was able to write specifically for Kate's eyes. With each page and each chapter, he was more certain that not only would she understand what he was saying to her, but no one else would know there was anything below the surface of the story being told. He'd always marveled at the wonder of clever subtext, which at its best was only understood by readers who knew to look for it, and while he'd never written for an audience of one, he knew without a doubt Kate would get the message.

"Dad?"

His eyes shot up from the page to find Alexis at his office door. "Hey honey, what's up?"

"You look pretty beat up," she said in a tone that was both somewhat sheepish and also unusually pointed.

"Oh, the flattery! And from my own daughter!" he exclaimed mockingly, which produced the desired smile from Alexis.

"Seriously, you've been in here for like three days straight, and I'm starting to wonder if you've taken time to shower."

He lifted his arm and pretended to smell under it, reacting with a decidedly offensive face. "Yeah, definitely due for one, and a shave by the feel of it," he said, scratching the two days' worth of stubble that had accumulated on his jaw.

A beat passed, then softly, "I know you miss her, and I hate seeing you like this."

He sighed, knowing there was no point in denying that his current hibernation had as much to do with Kate as with his infamously hermit-like writing habits. "Yeah, I do, sweetheart. But she's got to work some things out for herself first. She's been through a lot recently."

It had only taken his mother and daughter about two days to figure out something was wrong after Kate's shooting. He'd tried to play it off, but as the days passed without a call from her, he'd had tell them she'd asked to be left alone. It wasn't an easy conversation, and he knew Martha and Alexis were very protective of him and therefore less inclined to think generously toward anyone who made him as miserable as he'd been, even if that person was someone they cared about and knew had problems of her own. While Martha had thus far demonstrated a level of magnanimity toward Kate that was consistent with her nature and experience, Alexis' patience was visibly running thin – and Castle couldn't really blame her. There had been plenty of times he'd wanted to yell and scream at Kate for her selfish behavior over the past two months, no matter the circumstances. Didn't she know he was hurting too, and that things would be so much easier if they worked it out together? But he wasn't going to give Alexis any more reason to resent Kate for what she was putting Rick through. And her next words confirmed that she didn't need any help casting blame.

"I know she's been through hell, Dad, but this isn't fair. You stuck with her through everything, even a bomb. You got locked in a freezer and nearly died trying to help her solve a case. You've been shot at, you've come home with busted knuckles and bruises, and now she just shuts you out of her life? She's making you miserable, and you keep defending her. Why?"

Wetness glistened in her eyes, and he immediately went to her, pulling her into his arms. "Honey, I know it seems incredibly wrong, and it is wrong. I know that. But it's also not that simple either. I can't just walk away from her after everything we've been through, even if sometimes I think I want to. That's not what friends do."

"Is that all you are, friends?" It was a question she had been waiting a long time to ask him. Her father's behavior had changed so precipitously in the years since he'd been following Beckett that even a blind person could tell there was something more going on. And Alexis was not blind.

He smiled tiredly, wondering if a seventeen-year-old heart and mind could possibly grasp the maze of feelings, attraction, denials, and walls that characterized his and Kate's relationship. "Alexis, I wish I knew. For now, yes, we're just friends. Is that all we'll ever be? Well, that depends on a lot of things."

"How long will you wait for her to call?"

He answered honestly, praying his words would not be tested too sorely. "As long as it takes."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The words on the page began to blur so badly that Kate had to put the book down and wipe the tears from her eyes. But they wouldn't stop coming and were soon followed by hitching sobs as she envied Castle his ability to channel all his emotions into such beautifully written words. She had no such outlet, and everything she felt, good and bad, just accumulated inside of her until there was no more room and it poured out in the form of anger, tears, or more rarely, laughter and passion. But Castle put it on the page, all the uncertainty, the nuance, and the tension that defined her – that defined them. It was his gift, and its potency brought her to tears as she absorbed the depth and subtlety in the newest story of her alter ego that was leagues deeper and more intricate than the first two installments.

_Heat Wave_ and _Naked Heat_ had been great books, not that she'd ever told Castle that, but they had been. The plots were complex and compelling, and the characters grew and changed as the story progressed. She's enjoyed seeing the inside jokes in the first two books, the familiar shout outs to cases and people. She had been flattered and a bit embarrassed to read first-hand how Castle transformed her into a fictional character that was both startlingly familiar yet still all her own. But she'd never expected the exponential leap in storytelling that this newest book, _Heat Rises_, managed to pack into its three hundred odd pages.

Kate had mocked Castle once about the closing lines of _Stormfall_, sarcastically asking how wind could gather a woman's hair, but at the time, she hadn't told him how perfectly he'd captured the power of a woman's pride as she vowed to never let her enemies see her cry. It was a heartbreaking moment that earned every tear the people in that bookstore shed as Castle read the final scene of his acclaimed series. Derrick Storm's story hadn't ended with his death, but with the heartache and determination of the woman who loved him.

And Kate knew what it felt like to put on a brave face, even when confronted with impossible odds. The distance she'd kept over the past three months was evidence of the degree of stoic determination she was able to maintain, even to her own detriment. But that determination faltered and finally collapsed when confronted with a display of Castle's books as she walked from her physical therapist's office to her psychologist's. As she's stared at the hundred or so copies of the book artfully arranged on the table, she'd never admit, even under threat of torture, that she'd knowingly taken the route that passed by a Barnes and Noble. Unfortunately, there was no denying the record time it took for her to enter the store and pick up a copy – the impulse to breathe would have been easier to resist. Equally undeniable was the powerful contraction she felt in her stomach upon seeing Castle's face staring back at her from the dust jacket. It was the same photo she'd seen hundreds of time gracing his other books, but the effect was no less palpable after a summer of not seeing him at all, and for the first time since May, she ached for not only Castle, but for everyone else she'd left behind.

Five weeks.

She'd gone five weeks without one exchange of communication with anyone in the city, save her dad, physical therapist and psychologist. Of course, she'd been on the receiving end of a few text messages and e-mails, but when they went unacknowledged, her friends and co-workers apparently got the hint and let her be. The consequence was that she had no one she could share her feelings with as she moved one word at a time through the emotional quagmire of Castle's book. She had completely and effectively isolated herself, a fact that Dr. Burke hadn't liked when she'd confessed to him that she hadn't talked to anyone in weeks.

At her session just after her detour into Barnes and Noble for _Heat Rises_, Dr. Burke had asked. "Why are you still withdrawing, Kate? It's been almost three months and you're still not ready to talk to anyone?"

"I just don't want to talk about what happened, and I feel like, in every conversation, it's floating there, just below the surface. They want to ask me how I am, how I'm feeling, but they don't because they can tell I don't want to talk about it. So it sits there between us, unsaid, but undeniable."

"But you talk about it with me."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of the point of all this, isn't it?" she replied, gesturing to his office and their positions in front of the broad expanse of windows.

"And do you feel like our conversations have been helpful?"

Kate took a deep breath and considered her answer. The fact that she had spent three months lying to her therapist about what she remembered weighed heavily on her mind, but even without being able to talk about the actual shooting, she had been able to vent her frustrations about her recovery, as well as delve into some unresolved issues with solving her mother's murder. There again, she'd come up against her own vows to keep some of the most sensitive, and therefore critical, information to herself. But she talked about losing Montgomery and reminisced about her years coming up the ranks under his command. And yes, she had talked about Castle during several sessions. It had been impossible not to as she realized how much of her life now included him. As a result, she found herself during her sessions replaying so many moments of their time together, starting with the colossal effort it had taken during their first meeting to reign in her inner fangirl in order ask him some questions about why his books were being used for real murders. She had laughed at the memory while relating that story to Dr. Burke weeks earlier. "I had to treat him like a suspect in order to keep it together. Richard-freaking-Castle was sitting in my interrogation room, and with that cocky grin and teasing glint in his eye, I knew that if I caved for one second, I'd lose all credibility in front of every detective in the bullpen. When I walked out of that room, Montgomery looked and me and said, 'What the hell was all that?' and all I could say was, 'Don't ask.'"

But that conversation was long over, and now she needed to tell Dr. Burke whether she'd made progress. "Yes, these sessions have been helpful. I've been able to work through some feelings that I'd pushed down so far I'd nearly forgotten I had them. I feel like I can look back on the shooting and accept that it happened, that I survived, and that I have to move forward."

She hoped that appeased him, but the man was too good at his job. "And what about this exile? When do you plan to get in touch with the people in your life again?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

She bit the bullet, so to speak, and spelled out her timeline. "I have two more weeks of sick leave, before my physical eval, and based on my progress, there doesn't seem to be any reason I can't be back at work before October first."

"And do you want to go back to work?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I? It's what I've been working toward all summer, getting better so that I can get back on the job." She couldn't believe he'd even asked that. Why did he think she'd been coming to these sessions? For fun? Okay, she had to concede she was glad she had a job that required psychological evaluations, because she probably wouldn't have sought help on her own, despite her undeniable need for some kind of counseling.

He looked at her for a moment, as if deciding what to ask next. "But is it what you want, or just what you believe to be your only option?"

"I'm not sure what you want me to say. Yes, I _want_ to go back to work. I'm a cop, and I want to keep being a cop. I love what I do."

"And do you feel like you're going to be able to spend your days surrounded by the people you've been avoiding for the last three months?"

This took a little more consideration. She knew it wasn't a simple yes or no question. "I think I've been avoiding them because I can. So much happened in such a short amount of time. You know the timeline as well as I do, so yes, after all that, I ran away. I took advantage of my dad's offer to escape the pressure of company I did not want. I got shot, came within a hair's breadth of dying in the arms of … " she faltered and recovered quickly, "my partner, and as far as I know, the man who shot me is still out there, and no one has any idea who he is. My name and picture have been all over the papers, and I just needed some time away from everything. But yes, by the time I go back, I will be ready to face it. That's what this time away has been helping me get ready for."

"What about Castle? Are you ready to face him?"

That question had hung between them unanswered. In nearly all of her sessions, she'd bragged and ranted, laughed and cried over memories of the cases she and Castle had solved and the feelings that never went away no matter how long she went without talking to him. But she couldn't confess her true reasons for pushing him away. Her memory of his words to her as she lay dying from a sniper's bullet on that mid-May morning was still her secret. Of all the topics and all the emotions she'd mined during her therapy, the subject of her feelings for Castle and her relationship with him remained stubbornly closed. It was just too much. Although Dr. Burke had coaxed her to admit to feeling more than a partnership for Castle, she had steadfastly maintained that whatever feelings she had needed to take second place to everything else. The seasoned doctor hadn't been satisfied with her reticence, but, in the interest of making progress on other fronts, had reluctantly allowed the subject to drop.

Now, in the stillness of the cabin, with his tender, heartbreaking, and clearly allegorical story sitting in her lap, that dam broke, and all her love – yes, she loved him – poured out. How could she not love someone who knew her so well, who saw through every carefully constructed mask – and loved her anyway? The book she was holding was proof. She knew she was not Nikki Heat, and she knew Castle knew it. But still, there were shadows of herself in the fictional character that far exceeded the superficial analogies of hair color and job title. Certain lines of dialogue carried the familiar cadence of her own voice, and certain decisions were eerily reflective of the course of action Kate herself would take in a given situation.

She knew he must have rewritten a significant chunk of the story after the events in the hanger took place in May. He'd told her only days before Lockwood's escape that he was ahead of schedule and would likely have _Heat Rises_ – a title he was very proud of – finished by June 1. They had been picking through the remains of some excellent Chinese food as he filled her in on the progress he was making, and he gave every indication that the story was more complex and would find Nikki without her badge and going rogue.

She'd smiled teasingly, "Going rogue, huh? Art imitating life, Castle?" she said in reference to their own many 'unofficial' investigations, most recently in Los Angeles.

He'd smirked and retorted, "Knowing what else is in the book, I wouldn't mind a little life imitating art, Detective."

She'd blushed wildly at the implication and turned her attention back to her files.

But what she had read tonight – the allusions to Montgomery's betrayal and to Kate's own reckless determination – could not be coincidental. She knew, instinctively, that he had filled the days after her shooting by revising the major plot points in his book. It's the only thing that made sense, and she could so easily see him filling up the empty hours she had left him with sitting at his laptop, re-imagining their last days together as the subplot to his story.

And the result was both breathtaking and heartbreaking for Kate.

Her eyes flew over the words so quickly that she had to go back several times to assure herself she'd read correctly. And there at the end, after all the subtle tributes and private messages that she knew were for her eyes only, was the message only he could strip of all its innate triteness: I would die for you. In the book, he took the bullet that was meant for her. He got to her in time to save her, but not himself. And in the closing pages, he left the story of Nikki and Rook as uncertain has his life with her had become. As she read the words, Kate began to wonder if Rook's fate would have been fatally sealed if Castle's deadline had been in September rather than June or July. Would the additional months of silence between them have resulted in his message to her being as immutable as death?

The thought chilled her.

She had never intended to not see him again, but he didn't know that. She'd said she would call, but as the weeks and months ticked by, he must have become less and less convinced that her name would ever again show up on his phone. And her arrogant assumption that he instinctively understood her motives for staying away, and her implicit trust that he'd be waiting for her when she was ready were suddenly shaken to their core. What if he'd given up waiting? What if she'd waited too long?

Her hand moved toward her phone on the night stand before she abruptly halted its course as she realized she had no idea what she would say to him. _Hey Castle, how's your summer been? _How could she explain calling on a random Thursday night? _I read your book, and got your message in it. Am I too late?_ It all seemed so regrettably inadequate, so insufferably presumptuous.

And so the phone sat untouched where it had been since she'd talked to her dad two nights earlier. She'd made her decision back in May, and now she finally had to face the possible consequences; she had to accept what her choices might cost her. It would shatter her in unimaginable ways to go back and find she'd lost him, but she'd have no one to blame but herself.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The whiskey burned as it slid down his throat, and tempted though he was to follow the first with a second – and the second with a third – he knew it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Drunk or sober, the pain would still be there. The only difference was, if he got drunk, he'd have a hangover to deal with on top of his anger, hurt, resentment, and frustration. It wasn't worth it for a few hours of oblivion that he knew wouldn't bring any small measure of relief anyway.

Who was he before Kate Beckett walked into that book party for _Stormfall_ nearly three years earlier? He almost couldn't remember – and what little he could recall, he did not want to reclaim. The parties, the flash of cameras, the buzz of champagne – sure, it was fun for a while, and still was occasionally, but as with most elements of celebrity culture, there was a hefty degree of exaggeration that went into his image, and having escaped some of that spotlight, he wasn't in a hurry to go back.

The past three years had been like no other in his life. He was doing something that made a difference, that had meaning in a way that was at once humbling and invigorating. He was with genuine people who cared about him and not just his next book. And he'd found a woman who redefined every standard by which a human being could be measured – intellect, wit, humor, integrity, loyalty, courage , and simple basic humanity. The last one never failed to leave him in state of incredible awe. She had no equal when it came to her ability to relate, empathize, and connect with another human being, and he never tired of watching her draw on that fathomless inner strength to offer solace and justice to those most in need of it. How could he ever match that?

But it was out of his hands now, anyway. Despite all of his wealth, his connections (from the Mob to the mayor), his self-assured charm, and what he'd hoped were his useful contributions over the past few years, he was utterly powerless to change the current circumstance of his life in the ways he most wanted to. He was like a ship without a ballast, drifting aimlessly, waiting for someone to tow him to shore. Kate had removed him from her life nearly three months earlier. Then, one week after he'd submitted the final manuscript of _Heat Rises_, leaving him free to investigate her shooting without interruption, the newly-appointed captain of New York's 12th Precinct summarily dismissed him from the building he'd come to feel so much a part of. Victoria Gates had unapologetically reminded him that he was by no stretch of the imagination a law enforcement officer and that her bullpen was no place for a dilettante writer to entertain himself playing cop. He wasn't sure where she'd gotten her information on his role at the precinct, but it was clear she was far more acquainted with the Rick Castle who had "borrowed" a police horse on a dare six years ago than the one who'd received a commendation from the mayor six months ago.

Her characterization of him had stung more than a little, but what really felt like a knife through the heart was the realization that he had no recourse. She was right. He had been at the 12th only by the good graces of Kate Beckett and Roy Montgomery. Sure, it didn't hurt to have the mayor's endorsement, but Rick had known for a long time by whose authority he was allowed to be there, and that authority – and generosity – was not something he would ever have seriously mocked or insulted. But without Kate and Roy, his only reason for showing up every day was to help Ryan and Esposito on Kate's case, which Gates was suspending anyway for lack of evidence.

They'd gone over every witness statement, every photo from every attendee, and every security camera from every business and traffic light within a half-mile of the cemetery. CSU had processed more than two hundred pieces of evidence, from trampled blades of grass to chemical and fiber residue on the rifle, and Castle had hovered in the lab waiting for the results on all of them. Nothing. They didn't have so much as one concrete piece of physical evidence to connect a human being to that gun or crime scene. The only reason to allow the investigation to continue was because the case involved one of their own, but that apparently didn't matter to Gates. She didn't know Kate, she had no allegiance to Montgomery or anyone else at the 12th, and there were other cases piling up. End of story, and end of Castle.

But the facts and his feelings were incongruent. The 12th had come to feel comfortable and familiar. He liked going there, and without Kate, the precinct was the one place he could feel close to her. He could sit at her desk and look at notes and reminders that bore her handwriting; he could see the knick-knacks she valued enough to keep one her desk; and he could almost convince himself that whatever the reason for her withdrawal, she would come back and be glad to see him still there. The 12th was her place, and as long as he was could go there, he could feel like he was still a part of her life, even if she wasn't there.

On his way out on that last day, Ryan had stopped him near the elevator. "Castle, listen, I'm sorry about all this. We could talk to her you know, remind her of all the stuff you've done to help us …"

But Castle was shaking his head. "Thanks Ryan, but right now, I won't be much help on any case but Beckett's anyway. This way, I can work on it from home and keep you guys up-to-date so you don't get in trouble here."

Ryan nodded, accepting the silver lining Castle presented. Shelving Beckett's case was next to impossible for all three men, so this solution allowed them to continue to work on it unofficially without drawing Gates' attention.

"I'll get the rest of the files copied so you have all the information," Ryan offered.

"I appreciate it, and the risk you're taking to do it."

The two men just looked at one another for a moment, each silently communicating the friendship and respect they weren't able to give voice to. "Don't be a stranger at the Old Haunt," Ryan offered.

"Not a chance. And tell Esposito he should delete the porn I downloaded to his computer before Iron Gates sees it," Castle added with a devious grin, before offering one more ray of hope, "Don't count me out yet, Kevin. Who knows what will happen when Beckett comes back."

That conversation had taken place six weeks earlier, and ever since, Rick had seen every substantive element of his life disappear. Kate continued her silence; the edits for _Heat Rises_ were done and the book was at press; the precinct was practically enemy territory now; and Alexis had spent three weeks with her mother before starting her senior year two weeks earlier. After completing a summer college prep course in the city at Columbia, she had initially declined Meredith's invitation because she didn't want to leave with him so obviously unhappy. But he'd drawn on whatever shred of acting talent his mother had passed on to him and convinced his daughter he was fine and the sun and surf of the Hamptons were calling his name. He wasn't about to let his daughter fret over him when she could be enjoying a few carefree weeks on Rodeo Drive and Venice Beach before beginning the rigors of her the twelfth grade.

And now, more than two weeks into September, she was back in school, and he was still at a loss about what to do with his time. Each consecutive day brought no relief from his persistent lack of purpose or direction, and the only activities to occupy him were an endless series of book signings and a few interviews for the New York Book Review and other literary publications he'd grudgingly consented to giving. Paula and Gina had both harassed him for days about his abject refusal to host a book party, and both threatened to drop him as a client more than once over his lack of interest. Even though he knew they were only doing their jobs, he'd told them they were free to leave, but he was not interested in playing the role of a carefree playboy.

"I like to think I can sell my books on their own merit without prostituting myself for the cameras," he'd told each of them, to which they'd both scoffed derisively and pointed to his past antics as evidence to the contrary.

But he didn't care about the past. Right now, just the idea of any kind of a party, celebration, or fanfare made him nauseated. Even the few signings he'd grudgingly agreed to as a way to pass the time had proven to be nearly too much. His heart wasn't in it. As satisfied as he was with _Heat Rises_, it was the writing, not the promotion, that drove him. It always had been.

However, even writing wasn't enough, and he knew that sooner or later he was going to have to figure out who he was without Kate and the 12th. It was a decision he could not bring himself to consider. Somewhere, deep inside him, a flame of hope still flickered, preventing him from believing that it was really over, that Kate would never call, and that he'd never feel the excitement, the satisfaction, and the sense of purpose and belonging that he'd gotten use to over the past few years. He couldn't move on and he couldn't go back, which left him with in a state of persistent aimlessness.

He'd lied to his daughter about going to the Hamptons because he didn't want to be two hours away if Kate called. He'd refused invitations to the set of _Heat Wave_ and guest spots on talk shows for the same reason. Even in New York, he'd turned down every publicity request because he didn't want Kate to see him on television, acting like he was fine, like he'd moved on with his life while she was still fighting to get hers back. So instead of attending parties, showing up on late night tv, and appearing on Page Six surrounded by models and celebutantes, he worked her case as much as he could, following phone records, bank accounts, transfers, contracts, and endless paper trails. It was far from glamorous, but it was his life.

And the whole time, he knew that he would never be able to move on until he had some kind of confirmation that whatever was between them was really over. In desperation, he'd called her dad at the end of June, and Jim had said Kate was at his cabin in Harriman State Park, about an hour outside the city. So Rick decided he could wait to see what would happen when she came home. Would she return to work, resume her life, and continue to refuse to let him be a part of it? Would she ask why he wasn't at the 12th? Would she even come back at all?

Yes, of course she would. Being a cop was her life, and she wasn't going to walk away from that. But what kind of cop would she be now? How had this shooting affected her? If she was a mystery to him before, she was utterly unknown to him now. He knew nothing about how she was feeling, what she remembered, how she was coping with Montgomery's death, or where she wanted to go from here. Her father had only said that she was dealing with things in her own way and that she'd said she needed some time to herself. To Rick's ears, Jim Beckett's words had sounded forced, but hopeful. The older man wanted to reassure Rick, but also wanted to respect his daughter's wishes for privacy. So Rick had let him off the hook and just asked that Jim let him know if there was anything he could do.

However, as the weeks passed, he found himself wondering how he would feel when she did come home. The resentment began to build as he continued in his limbo. She'd left him all summer to worry about her after he'd watched her nearly die in front of him. She withdrew into herself, insisting on dealing with everything alone, and after all they'd been through, she still wouldn't let him in. He'd seen her eyes close, her breath become thin and shallow, and he'd watched as her heart flatlined in the ambulance. He'd watched her die, and he felt every regret, every lost opportunity surge through him like bile rising in his throat. His mother's words, time and again, came back to him. _You should kiss that girl while you're both young. Be honest with yourself about why you're doing this. Don't waste another minute._

But he'd wasted plenty of minutes; he'd wasted years. And now, his chance might be gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Have you read _Heat Rises_, Dr. Burke?"

"I did." He stared at her pointedly, waiting. "Considering the circumstances, I thought it would be worth my time."

"Did you read the acknowledgements at the end?" She bit her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth.

"Yes."

"You know what he said about me, about how I help him make sense of songs?"

"Yes, I seem to recall thinking that was an odd way to thank someone. Does it mean something to you, Kate?"

It took several seconds, but she finally nodded. "I'd forgotten all about it, but Castle didn't. Like a thousand other little details about our cases and our conversations that find their way into his books, he filed that comment away and then pulled it out when he knew it would have maximum affect. No one else in the world could possibly know what that means – and he knows there's no way I would read it and not remember."

"Do you want to tell me what it means to you?"

The question stopped her for a moment. It hadn't occurred to her not to tell him. She needed to talk about it, to tell someone else on the planet that there was meaning in those cryptic words, meaning that she couldn't miss. But Dr. Burke's question stopped her in her tracks. That conversation nearly a year ago was between her and Castle. He'd asked her how she knew when she was in love, and her off-the-cuff reply had been, "All the songs make sense." She hadn't asked him for the context of his inquiry at the time, though she'd wondered briefly, but then the brief exchange was forgotten, lost among hundreds of other seemingly random comments, questions, and observations he spouted off in a given day.

But Castle didn't forget. He sprung her words from one of the many steel traps in his mind and used them to tell her that she was the reason all the songs make sense to him. He used her own words to tell her again that he loved her, that he was _in love_ with her. But according to the date in the book, he'd written those words in June, more than two months ago. Just as she wondered whether Rook's uncertain fate was due at least as much to timing as intent, she now had to wonder if Castle would go back and change his words if he had known she would never fulfill her promise to call. That grim possibility made the words all the more special, and she suddenly wanted to hold the words in her heart for fear they were the last he ever wrote for her. It might be all she had left of a relationship she deliberately undervalued, and even sabotaged, time and again.

"Kate?"

She looked up and refocused on her therapist. "At first, I didn't see any reason not to tell you, but thinking now about what those words mean, will you hate me if I leave your curiosity unsatisfied?"

She actually looked apologetic.

He smiled and assured her it was fine. "It's enough to know their meaning is that special."

"Thank you. It helped just to acknowledge to another person that I got the message, because I don't know if I'll ever have that chance with Castle."

"What do you mean?" His smile faded and his brows knitted together in concern.

"I haven't talked to him in three months." The admission, combined with the emotional fallout from the book, brought forth a torrent of release. "I sent him out of that hospital room with a promise of calling that I knew I couldn't keep, all because I couldn't face what he made me remember. We fought the night before … before Montgomery … We both said things we didn't mean. I told him what we had wasn't enough, even though I was the one with a boyfriend. I told him he didn't know me, even though no one's ever known me better. And when he called me on everything, I told him to get out. Even then, even after everything we said, he didn't leave me alone. He showed up at that hanger and carried me out kicking and screaming. I've taken down 250-pound ex-cons and outran suspects while wearing four-inch heels, but I _let_ him drag me away from Montgomery. I didn't stop him, and on any other day, I know I could have..."

She suddenly stopped speaking, horrified as much by what she'd just said as by the vehement torrent of emotion that left her shaking and fighting back tears. She hadn't told Dr. Burke what really happened in that hanger, instead telling him the same story they'd told IA – that she and Castle arrived to hear a volley of gunshots before finding Montgomery, Lockwood and the others already dead. But the truth had nearly spilled out of her and she franticly ran through her rant searching for any details that would give away her lie. Her heart pounded as she schooled her face and looked at her therapist for his reaction. But he seemed unaffected, only somewhat puzzled by her abrupt silence, and she was grateful when his next question carried a tone of curiosity rather than suspicion.

"You never mentioned this part before. Montgomery was dead when you arrived, so why did Castle drag you away?"

She put her head in her hands and collected her thoughts, praying that he'd interpret her silence as evidence of her raw emotion – which wasn't at all untrue. She hated lying – hated it – but she didn't know what else to do. Until she knew what was really going on and who was behind everything, she couldn't risk involving anyone else in a conspiracy she feared went far deeper – and possibly higher – than she'd ever imagined. If Montgomery was involved and still rose to the rank of captain, how far had the man who blackmailed them risen? She wouldn't be doing her job if she hadn't considered the possibility that the man behind all of this was still involved in the NYPD or the City of New York. So until they knew more, it was best to appear to know as little as possible. She could couch it in language about preserving Montgomery's legacy, and that was certainly part of it, at least to whatever extent she was able, but there was undoubtedly more at stake. Absently rubbing the scar on her chest and remembering her mother, she couldn't help but think she knew the stakes better than anyone.

And so she put on her toughest mask and carried on with as much of the truth as she could while still protecting the most sensitive details.

"I broke. When we heard the gunshots, Castle held me back, carrying me away … away from the hanger. He said if I went in there, they'd kill me, too. He knew how dangerous Lockwood was and that he was out to kill me this time. If I ran in there, I'd end up dead. He was probably right." She felt the first tear roll down her cheek as she remembered Castle holding her against the car, stroking her face and crooning to her that he was sorry, so, so sorry. She wanted to cling to him and make it all stop, and she could almost feel the force of each gunshot as it echoed from the hanger. "Finally, he let me go, and when we got inside, they were all dead, including Roy. The last time I saw Castle, in the hospital, I told him he should have let me go in there, he should have let me try to save Montgomery. I was trying to put my guilt on him, and it wasn't fair. If I really wanted to, I could have gotten away from him. I remember thinking I'd never realized how strong he was, but I'm trained for that. He was able to restrain me because I was too incoherent to fight back, not because he was stronger. I was so scared … I couldn't face what was happening, and I think …"

A moment passed, and then softly, "Go on."

"I think I wanted him to stop me. I didn't want to die, and I knew that's what would happen." She was openly crying as she let pour the horror and guilt of that night. "I let Castle hold me back. I let him win – and save my life. But we couldn't save Roy."

Her hour was technically up, but neither one paid attention to the clock. She wiped her eyes on the tissue the doctor offered her. She was almost at the end, and couldn't stop now. "We barely talked over the next few days. I knew he wanted to, and deep down I knew we needed to, but I just asked that it wait until after the funeral. I just wanted to do my duty to my captain, and I knew that if Castle and I talked about everything that happened, if we talked about what we'd said to each other that night at my apartment, it would be too much. I was able to function by compartmentalizing everything, by filing away the stuff I couldn't deal with and focusing on what needed to be done in a given moment. And Castle knew that. He knew that about me because he wrote about it in his damn book. Nikki Heat did the same thing. How could I carry Roy's casket and read the eulogy if I was thinking about us – him – and everything we'd been through, everything we …"

Her voice trailed off, leaving so much unsaid. Recognizing her need to move on, Dr. Burke filled in the next part for her. "But you were shot, and that talk you said would happen never did."

"No, it didn't. And when he walked into that hospital room, he just stared at me like … like I was the Holy Grail or something. I told him I needed some time and that I'd call him. I never did. I've let him believe I blame him for everything. I let him wonder about my recovery. And I let everything that hung between us from the minute Lockwood escaped to just sit and mold and rot, and do whatever else stuff does when it's ignored for months."

Dr. Burke let her think about her final revelation for a few moments before asking the most important question of all: "So what do you want to do now?"

For the first time in all her sessions, she didn't hesitate. "I want to go back. I need to reclaim my life and stop hiding. Maybe I've already lost Castle and he's already written Rook's death into the next book, and maybe I won't be able to touch a gun without panicking, but I won't know unless I go back."

"Do you think you're ready? Do you think you can handle being back in the city after so long?"

She eyed him critically, very aware of his reason for asking. "You need to know whether you can sign off on my eval."

He didn't deny it. "That's right. I know you're physically capable, but can you handle it psychologically, Kate? "

Even though the call was his, she knew her own self-evaluation counted for a lot. It showed her progress and her awareness of her own abilities and limitations. And for once, the truth only made her more confident. "A month ago, I told you I still wasn't ready to go back and face everybody. Now, today, I'm telling you I am. Reading Castle's book was like being right back at the 12th with Ryan and Esposito. Seeing the references to cases we all worked on and jokes we made and discussions we had forced me to admit how much I miss them – and him – and the job that we do. Maybe I just didn't want to face everyone until I was a hundred percent recovered, or pretty close to it, and I'm finally starting to feel like myself again."

"And the job? Are you ready to wield that badge and gun again?"

Unable to resist, she countered with a question of her own: "Yeah, I think so, but how will I know for sure unless I try?"

The doctor nodded, obviously proud of her willingness to reclaim her life and face the challenges that undoubtedly awaited her. "Fair enough, Kate, I'll sign off. However, I'd like you to consider keeping up our sessions. I suspect you're 'summer hiatus' upstate will leave you with some unresolved issues once you get back home."

She nodded in consent, not willing to commit either way. A part of her wanted to believe she was "cured," but she'd learned enough in last few months to accept all possibilities.

"One more question. What about Castle? Throughout this whole process, he's been inextricably tied to everything you've talked about. What do you plan to say to him now?"

She honestly had no idea, and had no choice but to tell him as much. "I'm not sure. I guess I just have to hope that he's a better person than I am."

"Do you believe he is?"

She nodded confidently, "I know he is."

* * *

><p>The end ... for now.<p>

Thank you for reading. Reviews, both good and bad, are welcomed and appreciated.

- Angie


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